Warmth
by tootooroo
Summary: Roy thought he was deemed, Maes was so done with his father's antics, and Riza prohibited any kind of curse words under their roof. It was a warm day in the Fuhrer's residence.


It was a warm day in the Fuhrer's residence.

Well, just figuratively, considering the white scenery that spanned across the city, accompanied by falling snow and cloudy sky.

Perhaps the heated argument between a man and his carbon-copy that took place inside the mansion was the source of warmth.

Roy Mustang was almost sure he was cursed to be constantly annoyed by a certain _Maes_ for the rest of his life. First, by Maes Hughes and his stories. Then, many years later, by Maes Mustang and his antics.

"You liar!"

"You better watch your mouth, Kid. We raised you better."

"Mom did. But _you_ , who _just now_ showed me how to cheat and admitted innocence afterwards, have no right to say so."

For a brief moment, he regretted his decision to put their son under Edward Elric's wing to learn alchemy. Maes inherited his mother's sassy side already. Also giving that Fullmetal chances to teach his son on how-to-talk-back-to-Roy-Mustang skill was the last thing he needed. In just two months, his abilities increased significantly—and alchemy was only one of them.

Putting the book on a coffee table, Roy crosses his legs and ran his fingers through his jet black hair, "Very well. Your accusation is only based on assumption with no physical evidence nor witness. If you apply that kind of attitude in your professional affairs, even long before the court trial, you could be dismissed—or worse, yo—"

"Evidence? Dad. Please. Is that any reason for you to wear your gloves embedded with the transmutation circle, _here_ , inside our house, which technically has at least three lines of security protection? Of course! That's because using your weird style of clapping alchemy would make it far too obvious for me!"

"You said it is chilling, eh? I'm just trying to appreciate your statement and show my support by wearing my gloves to warm my hands." He said, shooting the boy an unamused look. Taking off the gloves, Roy put it back safely inside his pocket.

"God _damp_ it!" Maes ruffled his hair in frustration— _How could he be so impossible?—_ "Then you might as well stop doing that!"

"Doing what?"

Maes gave up. It was useless to make his father confess. But he was a smart kid—he just had to find a different approach.

"You know what?" He said, "Uncle Ed told me a lot about you."

"What, are you now trying to threaten me with the stories Fullmetal fed you? You don't even know whether those are true or not."

"Yeah, yeah, right," he continued, "but it _sure_ was interesting to hear another side of you, wasn't it, _Dad_? Especially the ones you nor Mom never told me."

Right when Roy opened his mouth, Maes lifted his hand, giving a sign that he hadn't finished yet. "And this time, Dad, we have an _evidence_. So I know that must be the _truth_."

"What did he show you?" Despite trying his very best to conceal it, Roy's voice displayed a hint of fear.

He chuckled, "Not much,"—paused to give a dramatic effect—"just a photo of you, with the rank of brigadier general..."

Roy's jaw dropped.

"...and most importantly, a _moustache_ on your face."

Maes threw him a wide, triumphant grin.

"And not just that," the boy continued, "I'm serious, Dad. That moustache was pathetic. Now I understand why you never grown facial hair—because, apparently, _you can't_. And when you tried to, they looked nowhere near good."

Not giving any time for his father to react, he added, "But the most interesting part was the reason behind it—Uncle Ed said you did it in order to look more _manly, older, and wiser_. Say whaaat?

" _Older_ , you said? Isn't it ironic, Dad, now that you have to polish your hair regularly to conceal those silver strains on your head? You think I don't know where you hide your hair polish?"

He tried not to laugh at Roy's horrified face.

Maes thought he had won this one—enough reason for him to give his father a condescending look.

Mustang glared at the hazel eyes he remembered had been admiring for years. The _only_ thing that distinguished the boy from him—other than their ages, obviously.

(And wrinkles. But of course, Roy will _not_ admit that one.)

 _He really was deemed to be constantly annoyed by a certain Maes for the rest of his life._

Not bothering to break their gaze, the man made sure he gave extra emphasis to _every single word_ he was about to say;

" _I banged your mom."_

Maes instantly cringed, shut his eyes tightly, and clapped his hands over his ears—all in less than half a second.

"For _fudge's_ sake, _Your Majesty Fuhrer of Amestris_ , do you really have to pull out that card and plaster those nasty images into my head?" he hissed right before hollering, "What are you, a teenager?!"

"Yes."

The two men (boys?) jolted as they spun their respective heads to face the door, where the feminine voice came from.

Mrs. Mustang, in her formal blazer and matching knee-length tube skirt, folded her hands and paced towards them. "What's all this fuss about?"

Just as sudden as the appearance of his wife, Roy's expression turned into a gentle, charming one. Or, so he thought. He stood up from the armchair and closed the space between them.

"You're home early, Dear. How was the museum's inauguration?"

Riza sighed. "Exhausting. I hope they _do_ realise I'm not that young already and cut out some substantially unnecessary ceremonials. My shoulders are killing me."

"Quite hard for them to do so when you look _this_ youthful, isn't it?"

"Your attempt to flatter me won't get myself to side with you, Roy." Of course. The decades they had spent together were more than enough to give her the ability to read his tactics in instance. "And don't try to change the subject. You heard me the first time: What's all this fuss about?"

The youngest Mustang growled, jabbing his forefinger to his father, "This man—" he pulled back his hand before his mother decided to ground him for misbehaving, "—Dad, yeah, I'm sorry, Mom—he forbade me from raising the temperature of this room, despite the thick snow outside!"

Chuckling, the said man shook his head. "Hyperbolical. Misleading. I _did_ let you lit up the fireplace, Maes."

"Dad. The fire was _too small_ to actually make some changes."

"I don't want you to raise the temperature too much. The current one is already warm and just comfy the way it is."

"That's it. That's it, Mom." Roy could tell she was biting back a laugh, despite remaining completely calm and collected, "It is nearly twelve degrees celsius here and he thought that's _already warm_ and _just comfy the way it is_."

"You sound like an old man. Want me to make them fetch you some thick blankets?"

If there were just he and his father alone, Maes swore he would had snorted. "Yeah, sure. The Flame Alchemist? Despises the warmth? You've got to be kidding me."

"Don't embarrass the Mustang family, _Son_. If that Olivier Armstrong found out you can barely handle _this_ much, she will make us Briggs' classic laughingstock even long after her retirement."

The boy squinted his eyes, "Us? We're on good terms with General Armstrong—well, Mom and I are. If I remembered correctly, _Dad_ , it was just _you_ whom she called 'wet match'."

"You son of a—" Her gaze pierced through him with ominous intensity, "—me. Yes. _You son of a me._ "

"Wha—"

"That's enough. We are off the record."

And with only that, the shouting march between them came into an abrupt halt.

She caught her son's eyes and remarked, "Why don't you just raise the fire up a little bit more, Dear? A small rebellion towards the Fuhrer won't hurt, I suppose." _We managed to stage one, in a much, much larger scale,_ she added mentally.

Maes eyed the elder Mustang in derision. "I did, Mom. But then _someone_ used his alchemy to stop the fire from raising, while just sitting there, reading a book and wearing that _oh-don't-look-at-me-I-did-nothing_ expression. He thought I didn't know, Mom, but how could the fire kept burning down at the same time he kept reading the same page for ten minutes?"

Her eyes grew wide. Roy facepalmed.

Silence crept into the room, and the boy knew better than to break it. He still managed to throw a thin, lopsided grin to his father, though.

Finally, she spoke, "Roy. A word?"

Just as Maes started to sneer in victory, Riza turned to face him, "And Maes, could you please fetch us some hot tea? It's rather cold in here."

"But Mrs. Pott can—"

"Ah, yes. I'm afraid Mrs. Pott is currently on her maternity leave. And since the others rarely brew tea for us, could you please tell them how I like my tea, _sweetheart_?" She asked in a sugary tone.

 _Mom really wanted me to leave_ , he thought. Because, first thing first, Mrs. Pott's baby wasn't due until at least the next five months. Heck—even he remembered greeting her just last night when they passed each other in the corridor!

And the most important thing, his mother was amiable and compassionate, yes. _But she doesn't talk sweetly. It must be a sign—obviously not a good one._

So, thanks to his common sense, Maes decided to reach the door and leave his parents alone.

" _Roy._ " She called out, still folding her hands.

It took every amount of his energy to stare back at Riza's eyes. But he did it, anyway.

"Do you remember one of our agreements we made when we started living together?"

He took a deep breath, " _Under normal circumstances, no form of alchemy nor firearms are permitted inside the mansion._ "

"Good to know that age hasn't weakened your memories yet. Care to give me further explanation regarding Maes' previous statement?"

"I was being childish, and I'll take full responsibility for my actions. I'm sorry."

The blonde raised a brow, "That's it?"

"Of course not; that one would be the first and the last, and it won't happen again."

"That's not what I meant," she tilted her head slightly, "aren't you gonna defend yourself?"

He smiled awkwardly at her—the very same smile he gave whenever she caught him messed up her father's library, or drooled all over his paperwork (and magically carved a relief of Amestris' map on it), or threw his dirty clothes onto the floor instead of the laundry bin. And his eyes would always say the same thing; _Forgive me?_

After a moment, she sighed, "You're pathetic, _Sir_."

 _Ah, that tone._

His shoulders relaxed as he dramatically wiped his face using his hands, muttering ' _Good heaven,'_ during the process. Roy was _totally_ sure that she was going to talk him down in fury—but he knew that tone. If she used that tone already, it meant she wasn't angry anymore.

"You know, Ri, he's currently at the age when boys become rebellious and think they know it all—I thought I was facing a teenage Fullmetal for the second time!"

"Now that you say it, Maes kinda reminds me of the 'rebellious' and 'know-it-all' teenage boy I had to deal with when I was a kid. I wonder how he's doing now." She rubbed her chin and looked up.

Roy frowned. "Well, apparently he grew up into a fine gentleman, and his years of experience had actually made him know many things. A wise man, if you ask me."

"So much wisdom that it can be compared to the amount of wrinkles he acquired, don't you think?"

He chuckled. Her comebacks had never ceased to amaze him. Bringing his hands to cup her face, he leaned forward and observed her face closely—just a few inches from it. The Fuhrer grinned, "Apparently I took every wrinkle you should've gotten, _Hawkeye_. Be a good girl and thank me properly, will you?" he said in low tone.

Riza smiled and reached for his hand. "That kid is the proof that I did, _Sir_. And don't you think it's kinda too late for me to give you _another one_?"

"What the _height_ , Dad." They pulled back from each other and turned to the door, only to see their son with a tray of steaming hot tea.

"I swear in the name of this house's _shiba inu_ dynasty, if you don't put those _filly_ hands of yours away from my precious mom, I will drop this tray right here and now, hop into the next scheduled train, go straight back to Resembool, and beg Uncle Ed to cleanse my brain from _those images_ with his endless notes of alchemy research."

The next thing we knew is that the mistress decided to step out of the room for a soothing hot bath, leaving her husband and son and their new round of commotion.

It was a warm day in the Fuhrer's residence, indeed.

* * *

 _Yes, Roy_ loathed _the fact that he was getting old and that he had tried to make a moustache works, and nobody could convince me otherwise._

 _Seems that the fandom has coincided on Royai kid being a black-haired boy with brown eyes named Maes. And needless to say, I couldn't agree more! I imagine Roy's schedule as a fuhrer would be so tight that he had no time to train his son properly, so he asked Ed to teach him (despite not being able to use alchemy anymore, he's still a genius and continued his research.) I think the idea of Maes being a good boy to everyone especially his mom (her strict upbringing aside), but not towards his (equally annoying) father, is kind of cute xD And yes, most of the time he's well-mannered, but when the timing's right he would unleash his 'colourful' words in his own way_ — _Riza taught him not to rant, after all (thus explaining his usage of not-rant-words when swearing...)_

 _Thanks for reading :)_


End file.
